


Precious Past

by elusivelover_archivist



Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, M/M, Memories, Misunderstandings, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:17:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusivelover_archivist/pseuds/elusivelover_archivist
Summary: By Cory ParsonsMemories and failed hopes haunt Luke and Han in the aftermath of Endor.





	Precious Past

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Cara Loup, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Elusive Lover](https://fanlore.org/wiki/Elusive_Lover_\(Star_Wars_archive\)) and was moved to the AO3 as part of the Open Doors project in 2018. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are the creator and would like to claim this work, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Elusive Lover’s collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/ElusiveLover).

**Precious Past**  
by Cory Parsons

 

THE MEDICAL FRIGATE

Luke ran his fingers across the wrist of his right hand. There was no visible trace where the bionic prosthesis had been attached, but a dull throbbing constantly reminded him of excruciating pain searing up his arm. Hesitantly, he looked at Leia who stood by the large window as if she were still watching after the Millennium Falcon.

“Leia,” he said gently. “We will rescue Han.”

“I wish I had your faith. Or your foresight.” She turned. “You can see the future, can’t you? You knew what would happen to us on Bespin. Luke, tell me—”

The sudden eagerness in her tone made him feel awkward, and he glanced past her, focusing on the froths and glimmering trails of the nebula outside. “Not this time. I can’t see anything.”

Leia’s shoulders slumped. Luke had never seen her so dejected, her usual composure about to give way.

“You’re in love with him,” he said, as neutrally as he could.

“Yes.” Leia’s answer came without hesitation, but regret darkened her eyes the instant after the word had left her lips. “Luke, you know I care about you...”

“I know.” He smiled, although there was no point in hiding what Leia had already read on his face. “It’s okay. There are... decisions that need to be made, even if it hurts.”

“I never meant to hurt you,” she said softly.

Luke nodded and realized that he’d clamped his fingers tightly around his wrist. “Tell me,” he started again after a pause, “does Han feel the same? Have you told him?”

“Yes, I told him.” Her mouth twitched with a hint of bitterness. “But I couldn’t bring myself to say it before it was too late. They were already lowering him into the carbon pit.” Leia swallowed, and her eyes flashed with impatience at her own lack of control. “I don’t know if he feels the same,” she finished in a firmer tone. “He said... nothing.”

Hands clasped tightly, Leia turned back to the window as if to recapture those moments. Moments Luke wished he’d shared. He was grateful for her distraction. Leia’s words had flooded him with a cross-current of difficult feelings — regret, acceptance, relief, and, yes, jealousy — feelings he didn’t want to explain. Tired, he leaned back into the pillows, but as soon as he closed his eyes he could feel the great shadow, always hovering at the back of his mind.

A soft touch returned him to the bright room. Leia had placed a hand on his shoulder, and worry formed thin creases around her eyes. “I’m sorry, Luke, I shouldn’t burden you with this. You need to recover and get well. Then we’ll find and rescue Han.”

Luke forced a smile. Part of him still insisted on offering comfort when he had none for himself. “I’ll be okay,” he said. “I only need a little more time.”

He’d never told Leia a conscious lie before, Luke reflected when she’d left the room. And that she hadn’t questioned his poor imitation of confidence betrayed the degree of her own anguish.

The truth was, time would not heal the deeper wounds inaccessible to medical treatment. All recovery meant to Luke was restoration of his physical abilities, a chance to continue the fight and face the inevitable. But the dreams and hopes that had been ripped apart would not be mended. The soul jarred and battered by too ruinous changes had lost all belief in healing.

Alone, Luke felt the pull of a single memory that divided past from present, security from chaos, lie from truth.

He was balancing on a thin ledge, and through the blaze of pain slivering every thought, he heard the words that ended one life and offered another like its dark twin. The words that made him a stranger among friends who’d trusted him; worse, they made him a stranger to himself.

 _Luke, I am your father_.

And then he was falling, forever falling...

Luke opened his eyes to escape the vertigo and noticed that his left hand had gone cold while the bionic replacement retained a normal skin temperature. For a second he resented the semblance of normality intensely: it was another lie like the comfortable lies shielding his former life — a monstrosity, now that he knew the truth. The loss of a hand did not compare to the ruin of a private universe, consumed in the fires of revelation...

...loss of hope, of meaning and direction, loss of love.

 _Han_ , he thought with a wildly fluttering heartbeat. This loss was one Luke refused to accept. It gave him purpose even as the future disintegrated into scattered fragments, each mocking him with promises of darkness. But whatever happened, he would rescue Han first. He already owed him a life twice over.

Luke recalled the dead, dry sound of Leia’s voice when she’d told him about the carbon freeze. The surprising sting of tears behind his eyes. He’d been so numb with shock that he’d considered himself immune to all pain.

 _He’s alive_ , Leia whispered, squeezing his hand. _Luke, I know how you care about him_...

 _You do?_ he’d almost asked, before he caught her innocent meaning.

Where all Leia could see was despair, he found hope. Inside the carbon block Han was alive and, Luke repeated to himself, they would bring him back.

Sometimes he drifted into fantasies... of the moment when the carbon would thaw to release its captive. He could almost hear the sound of Han’s deep voice, could almost see the wry grin. Time and again, Luke escaped to the only sanctuary still open to him, to the precious past when Han and he had been close, and every feeling was part of boundless expectations that tingled his skin day and night...

 

He’d hated it when Han teased him — a long time ago. When and why, he could no longer recall. As the Rebel convoy made its path from one secret outpost to the next, as new duties turned every day into challenge, Luke began to understand why spacers made light of everything. It was their way of coping with constant change. Then, the mockery Han aimed at him no longer triggered hot flares of anger and competition. As Luke settled in with a new life, he realized that, almost unnoticed, Han’s cynical comments had eased the transition for him. They put things in perspective and taught him how to laugh at himself. But on another level the mockery was also a distinction.

Although popular among the Rebel pilots for his outrageous style of flying, Han never became one of the crowd. He carried on with his own life which didn’t seem to include any desire for regular company, except Chewbacca’s. Free of rank and routine duties, he flew hazardous courier missions for the Rebellion, and Luke was the only one he would accept along.

Whenever they had time to spare on those missions, they took the Falcon through risky new maneuvers or practiced with the simulator installed in the gun turret. Crew quarters aboard the Falcon consisted of one large, irregularly-shaped cabin with three bunks, but Han and Chewbacca had long since made a habit of sleeping in turns. When Han and Luke retired to the cabin, the Wookiee would pilot the Falcon or work on repairs. And before they went to sleep, they talked.

One of those nights their conversation had drifted back to Leia. In the last three months, they’d seen the Princess no more than twice, in between her covert top priority missions.

“She kissed me good-bye,” Luke said smugly. The memory had already faded, but he enjoyed the look of guarded interest Han gave him.

“Where?” Han asked.

“Where?” Luke repeated absent-mindedly. His eyes traveled across the long body slouching on the bunk to the hand that played with the comlink — and finally back up to Han’s eyes. Amusement glittered there, and Luke realized he’d lost track of his own thoughts again. Which happened much too often lately. “In the hangar, of course,” he said.

Han laughed and waved Luke’s subsequent question away. “Forget it. Did you kiss her back?”

“No,” he said, startled. “I mean — how could I?”

The low, warm laughter flowed again as Han shook his head and rose. “ _How_? Come on, show me, then I’ll show you.”

Luke didn’t have any idea what to expect. The mixture of mockery and challenge in Han’s gaze drew him halfway across the cabin before he stopped to fold his arms and ask belatedly, “Show you what?”

A slow grin lifted one corner of Han’s mouth as he stepped closer until they were almost touching. “Show me how she kissed you, kid.”

“Maybe I didn’t kiss her back ‘cause I didn’t want to,” Luke stalled. Something strange was pressing in on his breath.

“We’ll find out,” Han returned in a low growl.

Luke never got a chance to wonder what that meant. The instant he leaned up to brush his lips against Han’s cheek a warm mouth covered his own, gently and insistently. That move should have caused a shock, but brought only brief surprise. Within a heartbeat, Luke’s arms came up to bring Han closer, and Han embraced him in turn. Luke was out of breath long before the kiss was over.

“ _That’s_ the way to do it,” Han said, his voice not quite steady.

Luke felt slow heat crawl up his throat and darken his face and considered it wiser not to trust his own voice. With Han’s arms still around him, he could barely form a sensible thought. His mind seemed to overflow with the taller man’s body warmth, the breath that brushed his mouth, the distinct pressure of hands moving down his spine.

“Wanna try again?” Han asked in a low, husky tone Luke had never heard before.

A shiver wound its delicious path down his back while his eyes closed automatically. Feelings stormed him and took over to compensate for his loss of orientation. Between the lump forming in his throat and the tension that clenched in his stomach, Luke wanted to laugh and cry and do whatever it took to make one moment last forever. His hands cupped Han’s face. His mouth opened under the coaxing pressure of Han’s incredibly gentle lips. As if by magic, the nervousness that had seized him a moment before dissolved into a sweep of electrifying pleasure.

This time they were both gasping for air when the need for oxygen dictated a pause.

“You’re not going to stop now, are you?” Luke whispered, his heated face resting against Han’s shoulder.

Han buried a kiss in his hair. “Not unless you ask me to stop. And you’d better tell me soon, before I lose my head completely.”

“Not a chance,” Luke breathed.

 

The chirpy voice of a medo-droid intruded on his reverie. Luke took a moment to summon his senses back to the reality of a bright convalescence chamber.

“No, I wasn’t sleeping,” Luke answered the mechanical nurse’s question. “And I’m not hungry, thanks.”

She waggled her long head and set a milky-looking nutrition drink on the table by Luke’s bed, quietly making a point. Leaning back into the embrace of self-forming cushions, Luke watched the droid exit his room. He reached for the remote and dimmed the lights until most of the illumination came from the wealth of stars beyond the large window. Set into the glow of the frosty nebula, they shone like fractured white gems.

Luke recalled countless hours in the Falcon’s cockpit, and the comfortable silence he and Han had shared watching the stars. Memory brought a lingering warmth to his body. All he needed to do was close his eyes — to feel Han’s presence, the touch of his hands and lips, the sound of his laughter...

It seemed strange that he should still feel so intensely, remember so acutely. Hadn’t he just lived through an extremity of agony and despair that left no sentiment untouched and questioned all the beliefs he’d held on to? Between the stars, blackness beckoned to him like a dark hand, promising new experiences, infinite power and knowledge — but he could also sense the immeasurable cold out there, almost as if the freezing vacuum had eaten into his soul.

Closing his eyes again, Luke fled back into a very different darkness, warm with loving. Although neither of them had ever mentioned love.  
There were the rare, stolen nights aboard the Falcon. With Imperial patrols ever closer on the Rebel’s heels, Luke didn’t often get a chance to join Han anymore. The convoy of Rebel ships traveled in tight units, and all the fighter pilots were put on strict escort duty. Luke volunteered for duty with the scout teams scouring remote star systems in search for a suitable new base. When he wasn’t flying courier missions, Han joined the scouts, but the stretches of loneliness grew on Luke.

Sometimes it frightened him just how much Han had become a part of his life and how much time he spent thinking about him. Luke realized that once the new base was established, private moments together would become desperately rare, and he hungered for them all the more.

For the sound of quiet breaths brushing the nape of his neck.

For the supple hands that explored his body and taught him about sensitive spots where he’d least expected them.

For laughter in the dark and the thrill of hearing Han gasp in pleasure.

All they ever did was touch and fondle each other, their embraces growing tighter as passion overruled control. Luke would never forget the sweet, warm weight of Han’s body covering him, the coaxing caresses of Han’s hands when he lay stretched out atop the taller man, happily captured by strong legs wrapped around his own, small moans escaping every time Han’s hips surged against him in a climbing rhythm... the overwhelming sense of togetherness he experienced when cresting pleasure welded their bodies into a single expression of desire.

Luke could not imagine anything more exciting or fulfilling, and if Han wanted more, he never showed any sign of impatience.

Luke was aboard the Falcon when the first Rebel convoy traveled to Hoth. Flying escort for the less maneuverable troop carriers, the Falcon needed a second gunner in case they were attacked. But the journey was uneventful, and Han was about to unlock the hatch when he suddenly turned back to reach for Luke’s shoulders.

“You be careful, you hear?” he said gruffly.

“I’m always careful,” Luke replied mechanically. They both knew Han would have to leave the Rebels soon, he’d mentioned the debt owed to Jabba the Hutt often in the past weeks.

Han shook his head. “I have a feeling about you—”

The sudden intensity in his eyes let Luke’s pulse stumble. It made him want to blurt out the feelings that had grown on him week after week, tied into a troubled knot of confusion and bliss and apprehension.

“I have a feeling you’re in for rough times,” Han finished and hugged him hard. “Trust me, you’d better watch yourself.”

It wasn’t what Luke had half-hoped to hear, but the moment opened him to abrupt clarity, and within a heartbeat he knew what he wanted. Even if the chances were slim and diminished as more time passed.

A week later, Leia arrived together with the brass and the bulk of the fleet. Almost at once Luke noticed the speculative looks Han sent her way. A long time ago, shortly after the victory of Yavin, he’d boasted that he’d melt the heart of an Ice Princess like her, wait and see. Luke could tell that Leia’s aloofness tickled Han’s pride and ambition, but now there was more involved... more than Han wanted to admit.

Helplessly, Luke watched the pair of them spar and banter and flare up at the smallest occasion. Not unlike he and Han had once acted around each other, even though their fencing had been grounded in humor and trust. As if the new relationship with Han had sharpened his senses, Luke read the signs of mutual attraction. There was nothing he could do about it. The Hoth base afforded no privacy, and even had he been willing to force a confrontation with Han, an opportunity would have been hard to come by.

When they were together, installing markers on the planet surface or performing maintenance on vehicles, Han was the same he’d always been. As if nothing at all had changed, they would laugh together and talk and, given half a chance, touch in a way that seemed like a promise. When he met those vivid dark eyes and found them studying him, Luke could almost bring himself to believe the unspoken promise. He knew what he wanted, and so he simply waited for Han to make his choice.

The fortunes seemed to have turned in his favor lately. Luke tried to trust his luck and spent the rest of the time recalling the cheap lessons gleaned from holo-novelas. At least they’d prepared him to accept that love always hurt.

He’d been such a kid.

 

The stars outside formed no sensible pattern. They were splinters of light, lost to the darkness in which they drifted.

Luke flexed the fingers of his bionic hand and felt the due feedback of artificial nerves, transmitting sensations. But it wasn’t real. He wasn’t real. Fortune had failed him.

The memories he clung to were paling fast, like something preserved under a thick layer of ice. Luke couldn’t imagine what Han’s advice would be. Nor his reaction when he learned the truth — that the man who’d had him tortured and frozen in carbonite was also the father of his closest friend... and lover.

 _If you knew how I need you now, Han... but I have nothing to give in return. And it doesn’t matter, does it? You’ve already made your choice_.

Luke’s sense of justice still recoiled wildly, because Han had been made to suffer in his place. Against better knowledge, he accused the fates of wanton cruelty. And he made a promise, pronounced a claim — because the fates owed him at least a shred of justice.

 _Let Han live. Let him be safe, and I’ll stand back. I won’t fight. He and Leia will have the happiness they deserve_.

Sooner or later, he’d expected this to happen. Leia would give Han the firm hold he needed in his life. Across the distance of what seemed like too many years, Luke heard his uncle say, _A good woman brings out the best in a man. You’ll see for yourself when you find her_. There was a strange comfort in thinking about ordinary lives that would continue long after...

...long after what? Ahead of him lay only the confrontation Luke knew he could not escape. A single, undefined moment in the future for which he would have to prepare. And then nothing would stand between him and the Other. Enemy. Destiny. Father. Death. Perhaps, redemption.

He leaned back to look at the stars. A deep cold invaded him, despite the perfectly adjusted ventilation and temperature of the room. For a fleeting second Luke wondered if, in the depth of hibernation, Han could feel the freezing cold that had arrested his heart and stopped his breath...

A piercing chill stabbed through him at the thought. Desperate for comfort, Luke reiterated Yoda’s advice. _Calm, think of nothing, purge your mind_.

He would have to stop thinking of Han that way. He would have to sever every tie that still bound him to a different life, to his companions and friends. Solitude would be his protection — and theirs.

* * *

ENDOR

Over the forest moon of Endor, fireworks still shimmered in the darkening sky. When Han tilted his head he could see them erupt between the weaving fans of the topmost branches. Their brilliance announced victory, reflected by the blaze of bonfires below.

Between the huts of the Ewok village and the bouncing crowd, bright red flightsuits shone in the firelight. The majority of Alliance pilots had joined the celebration. From the way they were jumping around with those bizarre, furry creatures, Han guessed that most of them were fairly drunk on victory and the Ewoks’ berry-based liquor. They were dancing.

The jolting rhythm of the drums echoed in Han’s blood and connected to long-buried memories... of Corellia and family celebrations where you’d bop until you dropped. Among Corellians, dancing was more of a sport than a pastime. And so he’d joined the loose circle, falling into step with the other dancers until he was flushed and sweating, allowing the energy of desperate battle and unexpected triumph to flow from him.

Leia had left the circle a while ago, hands pressed into her sides, laughing. “I never knew you enjoyed dancing, Han.”

He winked at her. “There’s a lot about me that you don’t know yet.”

When he turned back, a motion on the other side of the wooden platform caught at him, half-hidden by fire and smoke. Coaxed by Wedge Antilles and the rest of his squadron, Luke had joined the circle. Han caught only glimpses of the graceful black silhouette and a gleam of blond hair turned bronze by the flames.

He wondered if Luke would find relief this way, if he could join the relief they all felt after so many tense days and restless nights. He wondered, too, if he would ever know.

When Luke had returned from the destruction of the Death Star, Han could sense something not quite right about him — despite the exuberance with which Luke embraced both him and Leia. Exhaustion, perhaps, after the battle he must have fought alone with Vader and the Emperor. Han had been reluctant to let go of his shoulders, worried that Luke would escape again into the stillness he’d worn like armor during the past days preceding battle.

The drums rolled and beat louder. Lights winked through the trees as a gentle breeze picked up and swept across the fires, causing flames and smoke to flatten against the ground.

Across the open space, Han looked straight into blue eyes burning upon him. He knew he’d caught Luke off-guard because that intense gaze swept away quickly, but the one moment was enough to read the pained expression in his eyes — a coil of weariness, pride, and desperation.

Suddenly the rhythm of the drums throbbed painfully through Han’s body and the lights grew fuzzy, merging with a fierce brilliance.

It wasn’t over.

It never would be.

Han brought a hand up to his sweaty forehead and glanced back across the fire, but Luke had vanished.

Stepping out of the circle, Han scanned the crowd. Through the smoke, he could see Threepio’s golden form next to Lando and Chewbacca, and there was Artoo, swiveling his blue dome and flashing his searchlight. Only Luke didn’t seem to be anywhere among their friends.

Before Han could cross the platform, Leia returned with a flock of adolescent Ewoks literally clinging to her skirts. A half-hearted grin developed on Han’s mouth at the strange sight. He’d never seen Leia so happily excited, her cheeks burning and her loose hair tangled.

She threw her arms around his neck. “There’s a shuttle standing by to take me up to Ackbar’s flagship.”

“Right away?”

Leia smiled brightly. “Somebody has to give command a coherent report, you know. We need to make plans for tomorrow. And celebrate a little.” Her hands moved to his shoulders, squeezing lightly. “You’re not coming, are you?”

“Not my kind of party.”

“That’s what I thought.”

One of the Ewoks tugged at Leia’s skirt, and she giggled like a young girl. It was good to see her like this, radiant with hopes for the future. Still, with the feeling came a sting of sadness that Han couldn’t let her see. Not now. They needed time for a quiet talk, but it would have to wait until there was time.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Leia promised.

Han nodded and hugged her goodbye. A little too hard, it seemed. Shaking strands of the rich brown hair from her face, Leia gave him a quizzical look.

“You look tired, soldier.”

“Who wouldn’t be, after a day like this?”

She patted his arm. “Sure. Watch out for Luke, will you? He shouldn’t be left to himself tonight.”

“I know,” Han said.

With a quick kiss, Leia left him and disappeared into the hopping crowd. Han picked up the half-empty cup he’d abandoned when he joined the dancing and strolled around the platform, occasionally sipping on the liquor.

After today, he never wanted to let Luke slip from sight again. There was still the buried anger to deal with, lingering from the night before. Without a word of goodbye, Luke had stolen away from their company. If Han needed another sign that Luke considered their bond broken, that was it. Han very much doubted that Luke would appreciate his company now.

During the past weeks, the frequent switches in Luke’s mood and behavior had troubled him greatly. Ever since they’d brought him back from the carbon-freeze... Han’s stomach instantly wrenched at the memory.

From an icy void he’d stumbled into a world of unbearable solidity, of sounds and sensations that made no sense at all. Nausea clutched at him, blind panic seized him. Through the vertigo, he’d heard Leia’s voice and felt her touch, but his mind was in overload, spinning towards disintegration.

Later, during the medical checkup, Alliance doctors had confirmed that the shock of being brought out of hibernation was as dangerous as the freezing itself. Sometimes the brain couldn’t handle the sudden transition. Han alone knew how perilously close he’d come to that edge... until something had caught him.

Something bright and unrelenting, both familiar and disturbingly alien. Only when they dragged him back to Jabba’s hall, when Luke called his name across the room, Han knew instinctively what — _who_ — it had been, no matter how much his rational mind protested.

Luke hadn’t just organized the rescue, he’d also shielded Han from the threat of insanity. But when Han pushed himself through a stumbling effort to express gratitude, the man he faced gave him only a cool smile in return.

The difference had hit Han hard.

Something had pushed Luke into manhood at a terrible pace. Pain had carved thin lines into the corners of his eyes, had brought up enforced shields where before there’d been only openness. Han’s last memory of Luke showed a slender figure on the flight deck of their Hoth base, an insecure smile hovering on his lips.

The man he faced now bore little resemblance to the Luke he’d known.

Memory clenched in Han’s chest when he studied Luke outside Jabba’s palace, his expression of hard sobriety, the lithe and powerful frame dressed in black. If there was an unspoken request in Luke’s eyes, it warned Han against asking questions.

He never did.

There was little time left to spend together as the Alliance prepared for its most desperate battle. There was little time left for anything as the pressure grew with every hour.

Han leaned against the railing and finished his drink. How many times had he told himself that after the battle, there’d be a chance to talk? Maybe that’s what he’d wanted to believe — because in truth, he no longer knew how to approach Luke or what to say to him. All those talks he’d put off until later...

Han returned to the present when somebody waved a jug of Ewok liquor right under his nose.

“How about a refill?” Lando asked, pointing at the drained cup Han turned over in his hand.

“No, I... guess I’ve had enough,” Han answered after a second.

Lando’s expression changed to one of apprehension. “Something wrong?”

Before Han could think of an evasive answer, Lando drew a deep breath and said, “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? About what?”

“The Falcon. Listen, I know I promised she wouldn’t get a scratch—”

Jolted from his thoughts at last, Han straightened. “What have you done to my ship?”

“It wasn’t my fault,” Lando protested, then stopped himself with a puzzled frown. “You mean you don’t know? I thought somebody had told you.”

“Told me what?” Han growled.

Lando’s shoulders sank in defeat. “Come on and I’ll show you. You’ll see for yourself that it’s nothing that can’t be fixed in a few hours.”

 

When Lando had left him, Han circled the Falcon one more time. So the radar dish had been knocked off during the escape from the Death Star. Lando was right: it could easily be replaced, and Han had grumbled at his old friend only because Lando expected it and because it couldn’t hurt if Lando felt indebted to him for a while. Calrissian had been relieved to return to the party, leaving Han alone in the clearing. He could use a few minutes of silence, all by himself, to clear his mind.

Han looked at the new carbon scorings crisscrossing the hull of his ship, remembering the battles and narrow escapes and the day he’d brought her around to swoop down on the first Death Star. Life had never been the same since. Suddenly tense, Han wondered if he was facing another change now, as far-reaching as the first. With a last, uneasy glance at the Falcon, he strode back through the forest, keeping to the shadows beside the path.

Starlight sprinkled the ground, and the mellow air carried fresh scents mixing with whiffs of smoke from the bonfires. But all those fires burned somewhere high above, in the Ewok village...

Startled, Han paused in his stride and looked around. Somewhere on his left glowed the dim embers of a pyre. The air felt noticeably cooler when he reached the glade where smoke curled thinly from a pile of ashes and incinerated wood. And yet there was nothing here except the sunken remains of a fire that must have blazed high a few hours ago. He took another step forward.

“Don’t come any closer,” a familiar voice warned him. A slim silhouette emerged from the darkness beyond the burnt-out fire.

“Luke,” Han said almost impersonally, while his heart leaped into his throat.

“Yes.” Starlight caught on the pale hair as Luke approached him. “Were you looking for me?”

“Not really,” Han said uncomfortably. “I went to check up on the Falcon and sort of walked past.” He gestured at the smoking ash-pile. “What happened here?”

Luke glanced back as if he had to remind himself. The proud set of his shoulders tightened, and when he answered, reluctance turned his voice flat. “This is where Darth Vader’s armor burned.”

The coolness of night seemed to deepen around them. Han could sense countless implications in Luke’s sober reply and could fathom none. “Just — his armor?” he finally asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“The body of a Jedi joins the light when he dies,” Luke said absently.

“He’s dead then.”

“He’s free.”

Luke’s gaze returned to Han’s face, and the quiet burning was still there.

 _But you aren’t_ , Han thought, _whatever you say. We’ll never be free of the past_.

He remembered the boy Luke had been and the man forced to fill his role as a public hero after the Yavin battle. The determination still shone in Luke’s eyes, and the gentleness still prevailed in the set of his mouth — but something else had disappeared so entirely and abruptly that Han felt it like a chill to the bones. He could put no name to it.

“What’s going on, Luke?” he asked, fully aware of how brittle his voice sounded. “Won’t you talk to me?”

“About what?”

“The past.”

Everything was encapsulated in those two words. The drained look that crept into Luke’s eyes revealed that he knew exactly what Han was talking about.

With a growing sense of loss, Han continued to watch him. Every second that passed in silence wakened banished memories. One by one, they returned to haunt him.

A sudden wind ruffled Luke’s hair, and Han recalled how it had felt, sliding silkily between his fingers. Everything came back in a rush. The feel of Luke’s slender body pressed into him, murmurs in the dark, the brilliant smiles Luke would toss his way when nobody else was watching.

If he could see that smile again — just once...

“Things have changed,” Luke said at last. “We’ve changed, Han. That’s all.”

“So easy, huh?” He searched Luke’s face for clues and found none.

“I’m not saying it was easy. But it’s something we cannot fight.”

“Maybe not,” Han forced himself to admit, although a certain irrational part of him was shouting: _Fight!_ “I’m not asking you to turn back time, I’m just asking for the reasons.”

“We grow up,” Luke said with a shrug.

“Don’t brush me off like that, damnit!” Too late, Han curbed his anger. He chewed on his lip, searching for the right words.

Luke met his gaze without visible reaction, then turned his face. His profile merged with the silver-blue twilight and reflected nothing but shadows. “All I ask is your acceptance,” he said. “Is that too much?”

“I don’t know,” Han answered honestly. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to accept.”

“Your own choices.” Luke brought up a hand only to let it drop the next instant. “And mine,” he finished.

The double meaning in every word seemed to taunt him as Han struggled for something to say, something to offer Luke.

 _We can start again, nothing’s irreversible_.

 _Except time_.

But time had opened a rift between them, widening with every missed opportunity, and there seemed to be legions of them...

“When did you make that choice?” Han asked tentatively.

Luke turned back at that, the deep blue gaze capturing Han’s eyes with sudden defiance. “After Bespin,” he said. “You weren’t there.”

Was there an accusation in his tone? Maybe he deserved that, Han acknowledged. “I’m here now,” he returned in a lowered voice.

 _Too late_.

Without words, Luke’s drawn expression spelled it out clearly. He gave a tired shrug, and the fight went out of him, leaving only the stubborn will to endure.

To ask for more — for explanations, for another chance — had become unthinkable.

“Okay,” Han said hoarsely, spreading his hands in a gesture of unwilling surrender. “But whenever you need me...”

The slim shoulders sagged fractionally. “I know,” Luke said.

Han ached to touch him but sensed that any rash move would drive Luke further from him, perhaps forever. He couldn’t risk that.

When Luke offered a forced smile and said, “Let’s go back to the party, they’re going to miss us,” Han didn’t object. He worked his face into an imitation of reassurance and followed Luke back to the path.

 

Pearly mists swathed the trees, the huts and walkways of the Ewok village. Between some of the structures, torches still flickered and small groups huddled, talking quietly. The celebration was over.

As Han walked past, he saw familiar faces and nodded brief greetings. Some of the Rebel pilots looked dazed and exhausted, while other faces seemed closed off in private grief. Reality had set in. Today’s losses had been vast.

When Han slipped into the guesthouse, Leia had already arrived. Curled up beneath the rugs and furs, she slept soundly, the mass of dark hair cascading across the pillows, her breaths long and even.

Han sat down on the other bed to pull off his boots.

 _The choices I’ve made_ , he thought. Relief mixed with bitterness, and the feelings that welled up in a split second careened into each other.

Luke and Leia, brother and sister.

He recalled how Leia’s face lit up every time she looked at her twin. They’d never been really close until recently, and yet Leia seemed to understand Luke’s needs and feelings instinctively. Better than he could, Han admitted and told himself to be grateful, or at least accept the facts.

Luke would be his friend, his lover’s twin from now on — nothing more, nothing less.

Very quietly, Han crossed the room and studied Leia’s peaceful face. He loved her with a fierce, protective tenderness that still surprised him. When he leaned down to touch her, Leia’s fingers curled around his hand reflexively, with absolute trust, but she didn’t wake.

Han held her hand until she turned over, releasing him. “Leia,” he whispered.

But how should he explain? What would he say to her when she looked at him with those clear brown eyes, reading his confusion?

He could still feel the burning that had started inside him the moment he met Luke’s gaze across the bonfire. Something older and deeper, smoldering because he’d left it untouched too long, had returned in the blink of an eye to make its claim on him.

Leia deserved more than half his heart.

And to have nothing would be better than living with a lie.

 _Are you sure?_ Han asked himself. _You’ve done it before — sure you wanna go through all that again?_

He’d left a life with his family and friends behind on Corellia when he stowed away on a deep-space bound freighter at sixteen. And now there was no one left alive to wait for him.

Swallowing against the tight ache in his throat, Han sat down on his bed and glanced back at the quiet form under the rugs.

He loved Leia. And perhaps all he needed was a little more time.

* * *

PERNICA

Luke stood on the porch and looked out across a sea of tiny lights, glimmering in the rocky folds of the mountain. Another battle had been won, another world had been liberated from the Empire’s yoke, and throughout the star system of Pernica, several races celebrated freedom, each in their own fashion.

The Gren, Pernica’s simian species, had lit their houses of prayer scattered all across the mountain-slopes, but on the pinnacle city of Mount Sadim, the humanoid Perill were celebrating in a much more mundane way. Through wide open windows, loud music floated out onto the porch, mixing with laughter and scraps of conversation.

Luke lifted a heavy goblet to his mouth and drank deeply. He’d fled the heat and the noise of the party a while ago, starved for silence and a breath of air. For hours, he’d felt as if someone had placed him on an invisible pedestal. People thronged around him with congratulations and requests. The decoration they’d given him — a _pern_ -silver medal engraved with swords and savage flowers — hung heavily around his neck, and he felt it with every breath he drew. No one seemed to see the weariness living in his very bones. Part of it was the contented exhaustion after battle, but another part was the fatigue that never left him.

Month after month, battle after battle since Endor, it had been his faithful companion, waiting to overwhelm him as soon as he lowered his guard. Luke drew strength from the Force to compensate, never quite asking himself how long that would work, because there seemed to be no choice.

The continuing war hardly left him a chance to relax and certainly gave him no time for the break he needed, to retire somewhere solitary and quiet for a while, to work things out. There was the lack that drained him, the haunted pressure when he watched Han and Leia together, the constant effort it took to keep the facade of tranquility in place.

With harsh irony, Luke acknowledged that the two people who knew him best had become a permanent test of endurance for him. He could never relax in their company, he could never talk without consideration, without carefully choosing each word for fear that something might slip. An unguarded glance at Han, a sharp word revealing unspoken reproach, a gesture that would betray too much feeling. If he’d had a choice, Luke would have opted for an assignment far away from both of them, but the war left no room to indulge private sensitivities.

Luke drained his glass and set it down on a low table. He felt the smooth wine spread mild comfort through his limbs and sparkle in his blood. Time to stop drinking, perhaps. His tolerance had never been very high.

The deep green radiance of sunset still lingered on the horizon when he leaned against the balustrade. Immediately below, lush gardens covered the mountainside terrace after terrace. When he listened into the quiet, Luke could hear hushed voices from the shadowy garden — courting couples whispering promises, now that they’d gained a future to look forward to. If Leia had been with them, perhaps she and Han would have escaped to the privacy of that green oasis. But Leia was still confined to the sickbay of an Alliance cruiser, recovering from the severe injuries she’d taken during the ground assault on Ward Seven, an Imperial prison world.

Both Han and Luke had been reluctant to leave her behind, but the Alliance fleet deployed to liberate Pernica was in desperate need of reinforcements, and there had been no time to waste.

There was never any time.

As Luke recalled the private moments he’d shared with his twin before he left, he remembered Leia’s weak smile, intended to comfort him. It had reminded him of a similar scenario when he’d been in her position — endless months ago, after their escape from Bespin.

 _Take care of yourself, Luke_ , she said with that brittle smile.

 _Don’t worry, I will_.

Leia shook her head. _Is that supposed to reassure me? You’re just like Han, you both think too little of your own safety_.

 _I’ll watch Han for you_ , he promised, covering an inward twinge with a smile. _We’ll be fine_.

Leia gave him a mock-scowl. _I’ll believe that when I hear the reports. And... Luke —_

He turned back at the door.

 _Don’t wait until you’re forced into a rest like your clumsy sister_ , Leia added wryly, a touch of smugness to her expression.

Luke had offered no protest, afraid it would betray how much more he’d been trying to keep from his perceptive twin. For now, all Leia saw was the strain on his face — but how much longer until she would guess at the reasons?

On the other side of the sky, the emerald glow had faded. A breeze stirred and carried fragrances from the gardens up to Luke’s watchpost on the porch. It was time to split company with Han and Leia, he knew. Maybe later tonight he could talk to someone from Command and quietly assess his chances for a separate assignment. When the party was over... but from the sound of it, that would take hours yet.

He could still see Leia’s expression, the raised chin, the thin lines of resolve forming in the corners of her mouth, he could feel the tenderness that filled him at her brave effort to cover up her own fragility. And he wished, almost desperately, that he could tell her the truth...

Youthful worship had transformed into something deeper and more enduring when he’d recognized the blood-tie between them. And it also lessened the sense of betrayal, to know that Han loved his twin sister. Yet Luke had parted from her with a profound sense of inadequacy, because he couldn’t share Leia’s happiness with his whole heart. Because he couldn’t confess his jealousy and need and face up to her inevitable compassion.

Pity was something he’d come to dread in the past months.

Taking a deep breath of the mellow air, Luke decided to take a walk in the soothing twilight of the gardens. He’d already reached the stairs winding down to the lower terrace when a soft noise stopped him. Someone had stepped out onto the porch — which need not surprise him — but Luke also knew who. His senses were so attuned to Han’s presence that the sound of a few steps was more than enough to identify him.

“Here you are,” Han said.

Luke turned slowly. “It was getting a little too crowded in there,” he offered, tilting his head at the brightly lit windows.

“It’s even more crowded now.” Han turned the goblet he’d brought with him in his hand. “Where were you going?”

“The gardens.”

“Mind if I come along?”

“I, ah — no,” Luke returned. “Of course I don’t mind.” His mouth stretched and whatever showed on his face could at best be the parody of a smile.

He looked at Han, a moment too long, absorbing the sight of him in tight black pants and a loose brown shirt that shimmered with every motion, reflecting the velvet of his eyes...

He’d diligently avoided being alone with Han, since the Endor battle, which — under normal circumstances — wasn’t at all hard to achieve.

Han set his empty goblet down next to Luke’s. “Good,” he said, “because I think we should talk.”

“About what?” Glad that the narrow stair gave him the perfect excuse to turn away, Luke started down into the garden. The fragrances of alien blossoms intensified, and he felt a little dizzy as he slid his hand along the rail. It had to be the wine...

Han delayed his answer until they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. A gravel path meandered through the lavish garden, and they walked it side by side.

“I’ve been thinking,” Han said slowly. “So many things have changed, but to some changes you adapt and to some you don’t...”

“And what are the changes you cannot adapt to?” Luke picked up the given cue. A sidelong glance showed him that the familiar profile had tightened with decision. Whatever Han wanted to discuss, he’d have it out, and no evasion would prevail against his Corellian stubbornness.

Under their boots, the gravel glittered blue in the light of a large moon that had just climbed above the tip of Mount Sadim. Through the trees burned the lone light of a prayer-house.

_If I could make a wish —_

Luke cut off the thought before it could form.

“You and me,” Han said in that same insistent tone, steel cloaked in gentleness. “I know you don’t wanna talk about the past, but this is about now. We used to be close, Luke, and now we’re not even friends anymore.”

“How can you say that?” Luke blurted before he could stop himself. The ground seemed to slip under his feet — after so many months of trying, struggling to keep the friendship safe from his inability to forget, from his hopeless desires, was he finally going to lose it all?

“Come on,” Han said. “You know what I’m talking about! We’re constantly on tiptoe around each other. How much longer can we go on like this?”

 _Indefinitely_ , Luke wanted to return, but he’d told so many half-truths already that he couldn’t force himself through an outright lie.

They’d reached a grove of flowering trees rising from long grass, pale between their fuzzy shadows.

Luke was grateful for the twilight that would hide his expression. He watched the shadows that moved in a light breeze and felt dizzy again, silently cursing himself for drinking so much it was hard to concentrate now.

“I wasn’t aware that this is how it feels to you,” he said, cautiously keeping his tone neutral. “If I had been—”

“Don’t you even care?” Han asked scathingly, abrupt anger breaking his composure. “You ignore me and it’s... like being called dead when you’re still alive, damn you!”

“ _Ignore_ you?” Luke almost gave in to a crazy impulse to laugh out loud.

“All I ever get are second-hand news from Leia. The story about your father, what happened on the Death Star, your plans—” Han broke off with raised hands, calming himself visibly. “All right. What do you want me to do, Luke?”

“It’s not your fault.”

Han frowned. “No? Don’t be too generous, ‘cause it never works in the long run.” His expression changed again, dark eyes softening with feelings Luke could not read. “I’d rather have you shout at me, if that’s what it takes.”

“No,” Luke said tonelessly. Again he turned away from Han, didn’t want him to see how solitude had scarred him — nor the desperation, boiling up from secret places of banishment within his soul. The desperation he feared because sooner or later it would overcome pride and conscience, until he was ready to accept anything.

Even pity.

Luke walked towards the trees and absently reached for one of the lower branches. This was the moment he’d tried to avoid, confronting him with his own lack of courage... to admit how he felt, just once, and accept that those feelings belonged utterly to the past. Only the regret in Han’s eyes could force him through that lesson.

Before he could gather himself to the point, a hand touched his shoulder.

“I thought it was just me. But that’s not true, is it?” Han said, standing only a pace behind him, his lowered voice tight. His hand moved towards Luke’s neck and brushed his hair in a gesture much too cautious for the confident Corellian.

Luke looked back over his shoulder — at the man who could tilt his universe without realizing, who could make Luke feel as if gravity had lost its hold over him with just one look. In the dimness, Han’s eyes were almost black and intense like a midnight sky.

“Han,” he said softly. “Don’t ask.”

Han’s mouth twitched nervously, but he didn’t speak. He only reached for Luke’s shoulders and turned him around, drawing him close against his chest.

For a split second of dizzying shock, Luke stared at him, felt the familiar hardness and warmth of Han’s body as if no time at all had passed since their last embrace. It had to be the wine...

He told himself to break free, but the inward voice of reason whispered into silence when Han lowered his head and kissed him with a fierce passion Luke had never felt in him before. It broke through his defenses with brutal force, demanding a response he could not withhold. Heart beating frantically against his ribs, Luke opened his mouth to Han’s kiss and wound both arms around Han’s waist. He tasted the wine on Han’s mouth, felt the movement of taut muscles under his gliding hands. He had to hold on hard, to keep himself from shaking.

It felt the same, and not the same. Something was different tonight. Even as Luke tried to fathom the notion, old memories of holding Han blanched away, ghosts scattering before the storm that took him.

Han released his mouth for a deep breath that was almost a sigh.

“You’re drunk,” Luke said with difficulty.

“That’s just you. Makes my head spin.”

“Don’t say that. Han... we can’t — we shouldn’t—”

Han shook his head. “You want me.”

There was no way Luke could even attempt to deny that.

Long fingers framed his face carefully. His entire body awakened to the pressure of Han’s frame supporting him and forcing him out of a winter-sleep he hadn’t even noticed. Jedi training had turned his body into a tool, defining muscles, demanding discipline. As his senses stirred to Han’s touch, Luke felt himself soar, every fiber of himself a live expression of desire, body and soul. Nothing was left to contest the demands his body made, finally betraying him to Han’s searching eyes.

Han coaxed his mouth open to another kiss, and Luke gave himself to it in complete surrender. Desire sang in his nerves when Han’s tongue played with his own, drawing responses until Luke kissed him back passionately and took everything offered to him.

Through the vibrancy of tense excitement, he felt Han’s fingers slipping the shirt off his shoulders, trailing lightly across his torso. Luke moaned when Han’s head lowered and teased him with kisses that seemed to wake crackling electricity on his skin. Moving with swift confidence, Han’s fingers drew a tantalizing circle around one bared nipple while his mouth settled on the other to suck gently.

Luke gasped sharply and cradled Han’s head with both hands. A night-wind touched his skin, adding its own caress. A deliciously cool shiver alternated with the heat flying him. Nothing had ever stirred his nerves to such bright and hungry tension. Luke sank back helplessly against a tree’s trunk, felt the rough texture of its bark rub against his skin while Han’s lips and hands moved all over him.

Swallowing heavily, Luke opened his eyes to the sight of rustling branches and blurry stars beyond, singing from the pitch of night. With delay he noticed that Han knelt before him in the grass, carefully unbuckling his belt. His fingers stroked smooth caresses from chest to hip and fondled his genitals through the strained cloth of Luke’s pants before exposing him to the cooler air.

Luke quivered at the lightest touch and shut his eyes firmly, but he couldn’t stop the moans from escaping him, begging Han not to stop — ever —

Where was the grip he’d kept over himself for so long, taking a disparaging kind of pride in his own control? He was coming to pieces now, with nothing to hold on to but Han’s broad shoulders and the brush of rapid breaths against his nakedness, the tension in Han’s body that had never felt so forceful — as if it could break him.

The muscles in Luke’s belly fluttered wildly and his hips rocked of their own volition when Han’s mouth closed firmly around him. Luke heard himself breathe out with a ragged groan, hands clenching into fists on Han’s shoulders. Sensations speared through him at the caresses of nibbling teeth and lapping tongue, and his stomach twisted itself into knots as the gentle suction became outright demand. He pushed deeply into the warm mouth, sagging forward the next instant because his knees refused to support him.

“No!” he gasped, knotting his fingers into the dark hair. “Not like this — Han, please...”

When Han released him, Luke dropped to his knees and clamped both arms around him, pressing a kiss to the pulse that fluttered in Han’s throat. And then he began to tug and pull at Han’s clothes, unashamed of the need to feel Han’s skin, almost desperate for the weight of Han’s body on him. They rolled in the long grass, disheveled clothes buried under them and tangling around their knees.

Every breath formed a gasp as Luke arched his back and clutched Han to him, bodies locked full length at last. He was aching all over for completion. Han moved against him in the familiar, languid rhythm, but the kisses he scattered across Luke’s face were near-frantic, and the voice that whispered his name was choked with desire.

He wouldn’t ask for anything more, wouldn’t ask for the reasons, Luke promised himself. That Han wanted him tonight was enough.

And it brought the most delicious agony to his senses, to feel Han wanting him like this, to feel hard flesh friction against his own in a climbing rhythm. Luke’s hands slid down to Han’s hips and stroked in that same rhythm, relishing the motion of powerful muscles tensing, straining, slackening with every thrust of the hips.

Hesitantly, Luke opened his eyes and caught Han watching him, a dark intensity transforming the strong face. Han pushed both hands into his hair and held Luke steady while he kissed him deeply. On Luke’s retina burned the after-image of Han’s face framed by the shadows of the garden and the glint of stars far and high above. He threw his head back with a small cry. Han licked at his chin and throat between ragged sounds of ferocious pleasure.

It was almost over.

Luke struggled with the rush of heat in his body, with the need that forced him to obey the rhythm and fall into it blindly.

But Han grabbed his shoulders roughly to turn them over just when Luke thought he could not endure a moment longer. Stretched out atop the taller body, hair falling into his face as he leaned over, Luke felt a wave of incredible intensity wash through him — sensations mixing with a flare of wild feelings.

He gripped Han’s shoulders and pressed into him. He’d guarded his loneliness so jealously, and during that time the confused love he’d once felt had hardened into something brighter and less innocent.

With every thrust he gave, he felt Han surge up against him, and his heart beat faster, almost stopping when Han suddenly writhed and groaned raspily. A warm pulse flickered against his own flesh, wet heat caressed his belly and slickened his skin.

Luke heard his own moans turn into sobs as he pushed up, forcing himself over the precipice from which Han had just fallen with a final, driving thrust.

Climax crested through him with a surge of emotion, already blackening as the uncontrollable shivers subsided.

Now that the heat seeped from his body, Luke could feel the inward cold again, just as piercing as it had been when it was still new, before he’d learned to live with it. A residue of the wine made his head swim. His stomach clenched dizzily.

If he didn’t let go fast, he never would, he would bring all his possessive need down on Han and every sacrifice he’d ever made would have been in vain. He’d already ruined the friendship he’d wanted so desperately to preserve.

 _I love you, Han — love you way too much_.

Luke unclenched his hands and slid into the grass, stiffening when Han’s fingers reached for his shoulder to prolong the closeness. He recalled all the times he’d fallen asleep cradled in Han’s arms, the murmured chant of the Falcon’s engines soothing him to sleep. Back then, tomorrow had been completely out of reach, and they’d seemed to be alone in the universe. Now loneliness stretched between them like a knife-edged shadow, and from that shadow formed Leia’s face —

“I’ll tell her,” Han said in a hoarse voice, as though he could read Luke’s thoughts. “First thing when I get back, I’ll talk to Leia.”

Luke sat up and broke all physical contact with the harsh move. “No, you won’t. Leia needs you — now more than ever. And you’d be a fool to throw all you have away for... this.”

“What if it matters to me?”

“You’d be a fool,” he repeated, not looking at Han. “One night, for old times’ sake — one _mistake_ isn’t worth giving up all you have.”

“You’re calling it a mistake?” Han asked, angry disbelief sharpening his tone.

Luke pushed to his feet and began rearranging his clothes. “So will you, when you’re sober.”

“I don’t believe this!” Han growled, yanking his rumpled pants up over his hips. “What the hell’s going on in your head? How can you do this and then ask me to lie to her?”

Luke stepped away from him. “You’ve got no reason to complain, Han,” he said, forcing deliberate coldness into his tone. “You’ve proved your point. Yes, I wanted it — I wanted you — but there’s a price to pay for every weakness. You have no idea how deeply I regret what happened.”

Another second, and he’d take back every word, so he started for the path. He’d simply taken what he wanted, with no thoughts about Leia, about Han’s future... Guilt rushed Luke, wave after dark wave.

 _Look at your resolve, your noble self-denial_ , he mocked himself bitterly, _failing at the very first test. Oh gods, what have I done_...

And he was still waiting for Han to follow or call out to him — but there was no sound. Luke walked blindly towards the stairs, never turning back.

* * *

SELIVE SYSTEM, TRADE OUTPOST

Leia stopped dead in the middle of the hangar.

“Highness?” her escort asked with a puzzled frown. “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head without a glance for the man. “No, Commander. But we may have to rearrange my schedule.”

“If you wish...”

Ignoring the unspoken question, Leia squared her shoulders. “I do,” she said firmly, eyes still riveted on the solitary X-wing parked in one of the smaller docking bays. “We will delay our departure for at least a couple of hours. I’ll notify you later.”

The man clicked his heels, accepting her implicit dismissal, and walked towards the ambassadorial shuttle to inform the crew.

Still contemplating the X-wing fighter, Leia cocked her head. _Sooner than I’d thought_. She would have known that particular craft anywhere.

Without quite admitting it to herself, Leia had hoped to find Luke still on Selive Major, the next stop on her cramped schedule; she certainly hadn’t expected him here, on the very rim of the system. Mech droids were swarming around Luke’s fighter, indicating that he’d been forced to stop off for repairs of some kind. A flicker of anticipation warmed Leia’s stomach. She hadn’t talked to her twin in over two months, since their goodbye in a sterile sickbay cubicle, and now unbridled sentiments trapped her somewhere between relief and apprehension. But there was more underneath, a tangled knot of feelings and problems she couldn’t resolve on her own, simmering again.

Leia wrapped her arms around herself and walked towards the hangar’s exit with slow, controlled steps. _At least the waiting stops here_ , she told herself. _About time_.

Nothing could be as nerve-consuming as waiting for random chances — at least not for Leia Organa who’d been raised in the spirit of efficiency and decisive action.

“Can you locate someone for me?” she asked the protocol droid in the reception area. “Commander Luke Skywalker, my brother. He’s on the station somewhere.”

Optical scanners brightened, and the metallic head bent in a stiff nod. “Certainly, Your Highness. It will only take a minute.”

“Don’t inform him of my presence,” Leia said, wasting a tight-lipped smile on the mechanical attendant. “It’s supposed to be a surprise.”

While the droid called up the latest surveillance scans on his board, Leia paced over to the viewport. The sight was spectacular — a binary star blazing from its cradle of velvet vacuum, awesome even at such a great distance — but only part of her mind registered the fury of light spending itself wantonly. She thought of Tatooine’s twin star, and the twenty years Luke had lived apart from her, the farm boy she’d only caught a glimpse of... before the sandy-haired youth transformed into the quiet, elegant man who declared himself her brother.

 _Somehow I’ve always known_ , Leia remembered her tentative answer to the revelation. But was that true? It felt more like a helpless description for sentiments that didn’t compare to anything she’d known before. Tremendous warmth and tenderness, but never a stir of desire. Familiarity mixing with bewilderment, because every month that passed seemed to bring out a new facet in Luke. A deep sense of trust, despite her sharpening awareness that she would never understand him fully...

And she still called it love.

Leia cast a quick glance over her shoulder, but the droid obviously hadn’t determined Luke’s whereabouts yet.

When she closed her eyes, she could easily conjure his face, imprinted on her memory like a premature epitaph. Luke’s guarded gaze, his courteous, pained smiles. And with all her diplomatic training, she’d noticed nothing, had never wondered why her brother’s radiance had seemed to fade, month after weary month since the victory at Endor.

At least she knew now.

Leia tugged at the embroidered cuffs of her robe and briefly wished she had the time to change into less formal attire. As if casual clothes could ease the situation...

 _How hard can it be?_ Leia encouraged herself. _You faced down Darth Vader in the Imperial Senate at eighteen. What’s so intimidating about handling... a family crisis?_

Where her own feelings were concerned, she had no reason to be nervous. She’d dealt with all that weeks ago, passing through the inevitable cycle of disappointment, bitterness, regret, eventually regaining her balance. Unlike Luke, she supposed. And definitely unlike Han.

There was a small sting as Leia recalled the look in Han’s eyes when he’d returned from Pernica — informing her at first glance that something was terribly wrong — and the long night that had followed. Accusations, tears, anger, and helpless grief each taking their turn. Even then, through all her bitterness, she’d hurt for Luke.

“Highness,” the droid said from his desk, waiting for her to turn. “I’ve located Commander Skywalker in the botanic bay, on level 4.”

Leia nodded curtly. “Thank you.”

At least she wouldn’t have to discuss very private matters in some impersonal lounge.

 

Anticipation caused her pulse to flutter again when Leia palmed the door-lock and stepped into the greenery of a surprisingly large botanic bay. Tall ferns stretched towards the glass dome through which artificial daylight streamed. Flowers and herbs scented the air with a hundred different aromas.

Leia had almost reached the center of the bay before she located her brother, seated on a bench that was curtained off on both sides by hanging vines. He had to be aware of her presence now, across such a short distance, but gave no sign of noticing her. Luke sat hunched over, apparently in deep concentration.

Watching him, Leia wondered how much of his repose was a carefully sustained facade. But even so, Luke’s aura of calm strength was tangible, and when he looked up, straight at her, the mesmerizing blue gaze caught at her heart.

It was terribly easy to understand Han’s feelings.

Leia smiled forcibly, meeting her brother’s eyes across an aisle of ferns and flowering shrubs, studying him for another moment before she walked around.

Within a second, Han’s voice came back to her, thick with anger and remorse...

... _I can’t live without him, and it feels like it’s tearing my heart out, ‘cause I’ll never know what we could have had. I’ve no idea how many parsecs it takes to lose that feeling, maybe I never will. Truth is, I want him like I’ve never wanted anything or anybody, and all this time it’s been like I’ll fall apart if he leaves me again_.

A confession Han would never make to Luke’s face.

Weeks later, when Leia had finally brought herself to suggest that he should contact Luke instead of burying himself in misery, Han had called her crazy with a toneless laugh.

 _There’s no point in trying to fix something totally screwed up_ , he’d said in a flat, dry voice. _I made a mistake, and it’s too late to fix it now. Luke could easily find me, if he wanted to_.

Han clearly thought that Luke was through with him, but Leia couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

On the other side of the aisle, Luke waited for her without making a move.

“Leia,” he said levelly.

“I saw your X-wing in one of the docking bays.” Leia thought that her tone sounded just a little too cheerful and lowered her voice. “I’m glad to find you here,” she added. “Honestly.”

His rigid composure wavered a little, the tense line of his jaw softened. “Me too,” Luke replied, a shadow in his eyes that seemed to probe her feelings. Leia made herself hold his gaze until it slowly drifted aside. “I needed the time,” Luke continued. “Try to understand—”

“I do,” she said immediately. “I try all the time, believe me.”

But when his gaze returned to absorb her expression, Leia felt the first doubts stir. Luke’s tranquility ran deeper than she’d thought. No longer the brittle facade he’d used to mask his emotions, it seemed to emanate from every small gesture. There was a deep stillness in him Leia hadn’t anticipated.

She raised steepled fingers to her face, slightly disturbed. Where were the signs of anguish, guilt, or even resentment she’d expected?

“I appreciate that,” Luke answered with a tentative smile. “Please believe that I never intended to interfere.”

His stilted language began to irk Leia, even if the smile was genuine. She inhaled deeply. “Yes, I believe it was never your intention. But now that it has happened, closing our eyes to reality is not an option anymore.”

One of Luke’s hands rose as if to placate her, but then he ran it across the front of his tunic in an awkward gesture. “You must forgive Han,” he started, then shook his head. “You already have, haven’t you? You’re very generous, Leia.”

Irritation began to vibrate in Leia’s stomach. “I didn’t have much of a choice in this case,” she said flatly. “It’s nice to be appreciated, but that’s not why I’m here.”

A slight frown formed on Luke’s face, yet when he reached across now, Leia drew her shoulders back sharply and Luke let his hand sink.

“What happened?” he asked softly.

 _Guess!_ she almost thrust back at him — and winced at the stab of anger in her belly. She clasped her hands tightly. “Han told me what happened on Pernica, the night after he’d returned. We talked it over and... came to a mutual agreement of sorts. He’s on Ward Seven now, with the refitting teams.”

While Luke’s features stayed calm, emotion fluctuated in his gaze. “You... broke it off with him?”

“No,” Leia said coolly, to curb the teeming annoyance. “He left me. What did you expect?”

“Everything. Nothing. Not — this.” Luke glanced away, dragging his fingers through his hair, mussing it. Eyes wandering nervously, the blond hair tousled, he almost resembled the younger Luke again. But before the notion could bring appeasement, the truth of what he’d been saying slammed into Leia with disbelief and frustration.

“You have no idea how Han feels!” she said hotly. “All those months, and you never noticed? Were you so absorbed in self-pity that you could miss something as blatant as that?”

She stopped herself there, admitting that she’d never noticed either. But unlike her, Luke should have been watching out for the smallest sign.

Luke gave a tight nod. “I suppose I was. Wrapped up in self-pity... blind to everyone else, even when I believed—” He cut himself off to continue in dry, resigned tones. “I thought... Leia, I thought I’d learned that lesson since Pernica.”

“You have little faith in him,” Leia said brusquely, “and even less in yourself, obviously. Han loves you.”

Luke didn’t gasp, didn’t protest or query. Silence seemed to hold him in a violent grip that drained the blood from his face. He hadn’t realized.

 _Ironic_ , Leia’s ever-functioning rationality pointed out, _that I should be the one to tell him_ — but at the same time she could see Han’s face before her.

His haunted eyes, his features lined with a smoldering grief Han could only vent through bursts of self-reproach. His desperation.

And when Luke just stood there, pale but controlled, Leia wanted to slap him, shout at him —

“Han buried himself on Ward Seven the next week,” she continued, her voice choked with emotion, but she no longer cared. “He’d never admit it — maybe he can’t even admit it to himself — but he’s punishing himself. For hurting me, for failing you. And here you are...

“Don’t look at me like this!” Leia said passionately. “Don’t you care? That’s what Han thought — I couldn’t believe it, but now—”

“Leia...”

“Now I’m beginning to wonder if he was right!” she finished, turning away abruptly. Tears were pressing up — useless, pointless, after she’d already spent so much energy on coming to terms with these painful changes.

“Leia,” Luke repeated in a soft, shaken voice.

“Han told me the whole story,” she flung at him without looking back. “How was I to know? Why did you never even try to tell me?”

“Pride,” Luke said quietly. “Insecurity. You already know why. I thought Han had made his choice, and I didn’t stand a chance... even if I’d wanted to compete with you.”

Leia shook her head as if to refuse a gesture of consolation he hadn’t made. Recollection stormed her mind with images of Han, of precious moments they’d shared... “I don’t even have the memory,” she said, voicing a thought she’d never allowed before. “He was never entirely with me, never mine—”

The sound that escaped Luke could have been a whispered word or nothing but a stifled echo of violent emotion. Leia turned, and he caught her hands, pulling her to him.

“Leia — oh gods, Leia,” he whispered against her hair and clasped her tightly.

She hadn’t cried since the night when Han had paced through her quarters, his explanations interrupted by a deafening silence. And her tears had been hot with a rage Leia couldn’t fling at Han. Now they flowed from grief alone, in the rhythm of breath and heartbeat.

When the pressure finally began to ease, Leia slid her hands across Luke’s shoulders and knew that he should be crying with her. But the relief was denied to him, by whatever forces were stifling his soul and lashing his body into a single, tense knot.

“I’m sorry,” Leia said.

“That’s my line.”

“Just tell me that you love him.”

“I do,” Luke answered softly. “I wish I could even begin to—”

Leia stopped him with a gesture. “That’s for Han to hear.”

Raising her face, she wiped the wetness away and met Luke’s eyes. Every trace of reservation and resolve had melted, leaving his gaze rich and deep with emotion. Too much to explain, too intense to endure all at once.

“My beautiful brother,” Leia murmured. “What a fool you are.”

His bashful smile reminded her of the farm boy, of distant laughter and a deep sense of togetherness she’d shared with Luke and Han — a long time ago.

“That’s better,” Leia said approvingly. Control returned slowly from the storm of sentiments that had passed through her.

Luke shook his head. “You’re incredible.”

“Maybe that’s another special family trait.” Leia took her brother’s hand. “I don’t ever want to lose you, Luke. Or Han. You’re family to me, both of you.”

Luke touched her cheek with awkward tenderness. “Thanks,” he whispered, “for everything.”

“Thanks for shouting at you and acting like a fourteen-year-old? You’re welcome.” Leia leaned up for a quick kiss and smiled wryly. “Don’t wait too long,” she added in a softer voice.

 

From the lavish, light-dappled green of the botanic bay, Luke watched her leave, and his image stayed with Leia as she boarded her shuttle. For the first time, she consciously tried to picture them together. Han and Luke, holding each other... dark and fair, Han’s strong elegance matched to Luke’s lithe power — passion and persistence, light and shadow entwined in them both. Leia smiled to herself, with sadness and contentment alike.

* * *

WARD SEVEN ORBITAL DOCKS

His shoulders hunched, Han wandered around the central hangar where large stacks of dismantled equipment obstructed both the view and his path. Droids and Alliance crew were busy loading a carrier with the choice of equipment salvaged from Ward Seven. His job here was almost finished, and Han looked forward to leaving this dreary place. He stretched tired arms when he finally reached the open flight deck. Somewhere towards the end of a long row of docking bays, they’d stowed the Falcon, and the last weeks had been used for a thorough overhaul.

Han longed to take his ship back into space and test the latest improvements. His thoughts extended no further into the future, his vision of tomorrow was limited to a vague anticipation of deep space and scattered stars. He’d kept it that way throughout his assignment and knew he could go on like this for a long time... before the past finally caught up with him.

 _Stop right there_ , Han told himself. _Another day and then another and another... you know how to do it_.

He’d already started down the row, rounding a box-shaped orbital shuttle, when something caught at him. A sound amidst the cacophony of noises, a glimpse caught from the corner of his eye. Whatever it was, it froze Han to the spot and released a trickle of adrenaline into his blood with an upsurge of expectation. His hands reflexively gathered into fists as he made himself turn.

On the far side of the flight deck, an X-wing had just landed. Kicking at the nearest crate, Han cursed his own reaction. _Another X-wing, so what?_

But the next instant, when the canopy popped open and the pilot took off his flight helmet to reveal a shock of blond hair, Han held his breath.

He couldn’t move. He felt as if something would explode from him if he took so much as a single step in Luke’s direction. A déjà vu sensation crawled on his skin as Luke came rushing towards him. Just as on Endor when he’d returned from the Death Star, Luke fairly glowed with life, vibrant energy in every stride, his eyes dancing. But this time... this time —

“Han!” he called, covering the remaining distance fast to clasp Han’s upper arms.

The strange paralysis broke when Han felt the firm grip, undeniably real.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he blurted, reaching for Luke’s shoulders in turn. Inside him, something had been turned loose, building towards a veritable blizzard of conflicting emotions.

“You know,” Luke said breathlessly. “Han—” He tightened his grip, shook his head, the muscles in his jaw twitching nervously. “Han, I’m here — I had to see you, I—”

“Shut up,” Han growled, warning himself as much as Luke. Sensible conversations would have to wait until later.

Luke’s arms went around him when Han hauled him closer, close enough to feel his breath and heartbeat — though he himself suddenly found it difficult to draw breath at all. His chest ached and his eyes watered, there was a question Han wanted to ask almost desperately but couldn’t seem to remember. He locked his arms around Luke, holding himself steady with it, and bit down on his lip.

Luke had buried his face at Han’s chest. Even through the fabric of his shirt, Han could feel his fast, hard breaths and the subliminal tremor in his hands.

“Luke,” he finally managed.

The voice that answered him had never sounded so rough and shaky. “I don’t know how to tell you,” Luke said, “I never knew how — but I want to tell you everything... All this time—” He stopped, bracing himself before he looked up. “Will you forgive me, Han?”

“I, uh — I guess we’re even now,” Han muttered. “Or maybe that’s not how things add up, but it doesn’t matter. The past, that is. Oh shit—”

He was babbling nonsense, upset and confused and about to lose himself to the sight of Luke’s heated face. An incredulous smile appeared on Luke’s mouth while his hands clasped around the back of Han’s neck and pulled him closer.

A harsh breath escaped Han as he bent his head just a little and felt Luke’s mouth brush his own. Within a split second, they clung to each other in a passionate kiss. More than desire unraveled inside Han at the sensation of Luke’s mouth moving against his own, Luke’s sharp breath warming his face — they pressed into each other, unable to end this moment that filled only with a wild longing for more.

Han could feel it wash through him — a familiar, piercing sweetness — and yet in another second he knew that he’d never allowed its full intensity before. Deep within himself, something was opening up to be claimed and owned irrevocably.

He pulled away to meet Luke’s eyes and suddenly understood how he’d always been afraid of all Luke could do to him — of what he could do to himself over Luke—

“You’re in trouble,” Han said roughly. “Try to disappear again, and you’ll know what I’m talking about.”

Luke laughed softly, but his eyes burned with emotion — and all Han wanted was to fall into that fire and burn with him.

“I won’t,” Luke said. “I won’t disappear. I was wrong — but there just didn’t seem to be any other way... I’d tied myself up like — I almost couldn’t breathe anymore, I had to be alone to see... I was so obsessed.” He paused in a visible effort to regain control. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you, Han, but I never asked myself—”

“Yeah, we’ve both been pretty dense, you can say that again.” The lighter tone faltered pitifully, and Han shrugged. “How about something simple and straightforward for a change?” His voice lowered as he met electric blue eyes and added, “I love you. Now can we get on with it?”

“Right away?” Luke breathed.

Over the next minutes, Han resolved that he’d tell Luke as often as he could, if a few words could produce that kind of effect.

Luke covered his mouth in hungry kisses, while the words scattered in between those kisses amounted to a statement of unconditional passion and surrender and joy. Han felt his heart skip a beat and kissed Luke deeply, one arm wound tightly around Luke’s waist, his free hand moving through the silky hair. Luke gave a low moan and pressed into him.

When he finally lifted his head and looked out through all the confused bliss, Han caught a few curious glances from passing crew members. It didn’t matter, and Luke very obviously didn’t seem to care who was watching them. Still, the situation could get embarrassing pretty soon, if Luke kept touching him like this... but more than anything, Han longed to be alone with him. Somewhere quiet and private where he’d have all the time he wanted to look at Luke, to understand, to touch and rediscover —

Let’s go,” he whispered. “I think I’m going to shortcircuit if we don’t get to make love within the next half hour, you know what I’m saying?”

“Yeah.” Luke swallowed. “I know exactly what you’re talking about, believe me.”

Han returned a lopsided grin. Strange, how all of a sudden he felt both bound and turned loose. One more mystery to solve — and how many more to come? Past and future had rolled themselves into one single moment of perfection. That was all.

 _More than enough_ , Han thought. _More than enough to last a lifetime_.

* * * * *


End file.
